I’d been meditating for slightly over 10 years now. But it’s not often I write about it. Not because there wasn’t anything to write about, but because what I see and experience when sitting are hard to put into words. Only imagery, metaphors, visualisations and poetry work in this space. And so here it is:

-–

Little demons

Here and there

Toppling me

Everywhere

Or is it?

Light of zeal

Dawn of inspiration

Show me

Show me how

Sit

See thyself

Let go

      Let go

             Let go

Of everything…

I’m trying

     Still trying

Trying not to try too hard

All I see now, in my mind

Are splutters and star bursts

Of nothing

Come on……

Sit…

Just sit

Sit through those storms of restlessness,

of impatience

Come on… Sit.

Sit with that feline body

Built from strength to strength

to hold stillness in, within

Come on… Sit., to sit.

Not to wait.

Sit and water the blossom of the mind

And watch how beautifully it blooms!

Sit.

Waiting for a sign……

I think I’m still waiting for a sign

A sign to tell me I’m on the right way

An omen to assure, to sooth

the tender soul earnestly searching Itself.

But the sign may never come

And it likely will never come, if I wait.

Caught between wanting and waiting

neither right for the Way,

how can the tender soul find rest?

Thoughts, visions, images, feelings, words -

they come and go ceaselessly.

Like a stream, at times a river,

ever-flowing and without rest.

I used to try to swim against the currents, or tried to dam it all up.

But now float and go along I do, un-conflicted, easy-going, I soar.

All I want

is to site and meditate

forever and ever more.

Today, there was joy.

A lightness in joy.

And there was hunger.

A starved sense for God.

Meditation is the silent serenade of the soul.